Sunday, October 12, 2014

Mark Prudowsky


On a hot July day I turn up
my collar. I want it to snow.
Some days this works

better than others. Some days I write
about snow in what might be my life's
gravest moment.

If we are lucky our gravest moment
is yet to come. I'd rather be lucky
than patient.

In the banality of things done
again and again because they’re familiar,
they’re home, my gravest moment

knocked at the door
so lightly I didn’t hear. So it left
              quickly with a light step.


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